


Wave in the Wastes

by LullabyKnell



Series: Star Wars Episode LK [4]
Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Spirits, Character Study, Choices, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Force Ghosts, Force Sensitivity, Force-Sensitive Shmi Skywalker, Gen, Ghosts, Introspection, Light Angst, Mother-Son Relationship, POV Female Character, POV Third Person Limited, Skywalker Family Feels, Spirits, Supernatural Elements, Tatooine, Universe Alteration, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 04:40:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9162403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LullabyKnell/pseuds/LullabyKnell
Summary: This would not be the first time that Shmi Skywalker had seen things that others could not. Besides, she could barely see the figure as it was, looming with a mild posture and possibly watching everything around it with interest. It seemed fairly harmless as spirits went.Tatooine was no stranger to spirits, nor to ghosts, nor to strange sights and secrets. For a planet that was harsh, sparsely populated, and desolate, the wastes of Tatooine seemed to call out to distant wanderers looking for shelter, to rebellious scoundrels seeking refuge, and to any other passing person with a tale that must not be told or nowhere else to go.





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> I don't... actually really know what this is. The idea for this universe/premise came to me right before I went to go see Rogue One and if I'd had any sense, I would have done this as a series-arching one-shot starting with the original trilogy and ending around Ep7. But it seems that I don't actually have any sense and I have a lot of feelings about Shmi Skywalker and spirits, ghosts, and other sorts of supernatural beings layered over what is already a magical space opera. So the premise developed over the course of me writing this. I should probably start over but ehh... I don't want to.
> 
> Quick disclaimer: I have only seen the Star Wars movies. Like, I saw all the prequels within the past week and all that, but I wasn't really paying attention and this is definitely an altered universe. So... like... if the Force doesn't work like this... That's cool, I wanted colorful spirits and ghosts, so this is how my Force works. Also, Shmi Skywalker is a deeply repressed Force-powerhouse because reasons. 
> 
> Oh... Also... This is dedicated in part to Debbie and Carrie, for being songs in the rain. 
> 
> Here's to a better year, everybody.

 There was a figure in white in the corner of her eye.

 It was a ‘figure’ because it could not be seen if they were a lady, gentleman, or some other form of distinguished guest, nor could it be seen if they were even human-shaped. They appeared potentially humanoid, beneath the shifting, slightly ragged fabric that covered them from what might have been a head to where toes could have been. Like some tall mixture between a sandperson, one of the old priests that wandered the deserts, and some sort of animal wearing a tent.

 It was also a ‘figure’ because she was not sure whether or not they were a figure of her imagination. They were transparent and they shimmered when they shifted, like a mirage or some other trick of the eyes, nearly invisible in their existence. But they did not disappear when she squinted at the persistent hallucination, hanging casually around.

 She did not do anything about the figure in white in the corner of her eye.

 And was it really white? Perhaps it was grey, shifting as it did in the shadows. Perhaps it was beige, as dry as the sand that did not move under its presence, or even faintly reddish under the setting suns. Perhaps it was a figure of many colors, flickering ever-changingly in the corner of her eye.

 She did not do anything because this would not be the first time that Shmi Skywalker saw things that others could not. Besides, she could barely see it as it was, looming with a mild posture and possibly watching everything around it with interest. It seemed fairly harmless.

 Tatooine was no stranger to spirits, nor to ghosts, nor to strange sights and secrets. For a planet that was harsh, sparsely populated, and desolate, the wastes of Tatooine seemed to call out to distant wanderers looking for shelter, to rebellious scoundrels seeking refuge, and to any other passing person with a tale that must not be told or nowhere else to go.

 Like the people who lived here, Tatooine was dull and cruel and dreary. But odd things stirred in the wide emptiness while the travelers and the toiling, tired inhabitants paid the vast desert caution but little precious attention.

 Shmi Skywalker saw many things that others could not. And she did not speak of them. The other inhabitants of Tatooine were too caught up in their own hard work and harsh life, their own secrets and sin, their own more important and immediate lives to pay attention to the hallucinations of a slave woman. Shmi had little time and energy to pay attention to the hallucinations herself.

 Often, they were hardly important, anyway. Trickster spirits danced in the spinning dust, cackling to one another of their latest mischief, and Shmi had work to do and did not want to attract their attention.

 Spirits made of sunbeams prowled in the blistering heat, exotic wandering spirits from space floated imperiously or shamefully or excitedly by on their own business sometimes.

 Spirits born of loneliness and silence floated over farmlands and sighed in the horizon as beastly things howled out in the distant canyons.

 And Shmi had work to do.

 Ghosts were even more common over the sparsely populated planet; the dead joining the living, slipping through the cracks of the world like sand through fingers. Not so much conscious beings as mere memories of everyday life. Imprints of people who had trekked their paths so many times over, or unfinished business and fury and hope so strong, that they stayed for a little longer.

 Like old slaves still tiredly working on tasks long since gone, as though they had died and still gotten up to work in the morning. They didn’t seem to be aware of anything; ghosts more pattern than person by that point.

 Or there were slaves furious in death at the injustice and horror done upon them. Shmi tended to know which slavemasters were the worst of the whole bad lot of them, as they were the ones followed by trails or hordes of angry, hissing whispers and drawn, bloody faces.

 Once, Shmi had seen a young slave girl being followed by the ghost of her grandmother, a fretting and flimsy shade looking out for their grandchild in death because she had known in life that no one else would once she was gone.

 The memories of the once-living lingered in shadowy alleyways where they’d died, wandered lost and confused through stalls and shoppers at the market, and peaceably or angrily haunted the houses in which they’d lived all their lives. Ghosts of rats skittered over the sand with their living kin, shades of droids followed their recycled components about, and fallen warriors fell from the stars with hollow eyes and mutterings about battles happening far away and long ago.

 Shmi saw them all, not uncommonly though most not every day, but she had work to do.

 She did not do anything about the figure in white in the corner of her eye. She had gotten very good at acting blind to all the spirits, ghosts, and strange things that walked the wastes and towns of Tatooine. It seemed ultimately harmless, if very mysterious, and Shmi had other things on her mind.

 Shmi Skywalker stared out towards the twin suns slowly setting, thinking deeply. She paid none of her precious attention to the sole, lonely shade drifting out in the desert horizon, nor to the whispers and howls floating on the wind, nor to the figure in white watching in the corner of her eye. Her heart was in her throat with fear, her chest tight and lungs still with uncertainty, her hand stretched out wondrously and protectively over the swell of her lower abdomen, as she came to a terrifying decision.

 She would do her utmost to keep this child, she decided finally, rather than give it away and leave it to the unknown or… try to be rid of it in some merciful way. She would do her utmost to protect this small, innocent being that she was bringing into a harsh and dreary world. She would do her utmost, as little as that might be, to give them the best life that she was able – to hold them close, keep them safe, and love them dearly, as much as she could.

 It would be a hard, tiring, and thankless work to add to the work she already had to do, but she would do it. If she was to bring another being into the world and try to look after them, it would be her responsibility to give them exhaustingly all she could, even with as little that she had.

 Decision made, Shmi put off immediately returning inside for a moment longer. She breathed in deeply and focused on the coolness of the air, the whispers on the wind, and the swell of her lungs. She stared out towards the suns, drifting slowly down, and prayed for a soft and merciful tomorrow. She watched the lonely spirit wandering aimlessly out in the desert, tamping down the terrible kinship welling in her fragile heart and calloused hands. Shmi forgot all the work she had to do and stood witness to the world for a moment… hoping… and fearing.

 Then Shmi swallowed her heart and turned away from the vastness of the wastes, because prayer had never done much for her and she had work to do. Even more work, now that she had decided.

 Before she returned inside, however, she noticed that the figure in white was gone. There was no longer an outline of the tall and shadowy spirit, not even a shimmer or wrinkle in the air. It had simply vanished, no footprints or other imprints in the sand where it had been, like it had never been there at all. She could not see it and the feeling of its unseen eyes watching her was gone as well.

 Shmi might have wondered what it had been doing, but spirits were often aimless and wandering ones dwelled for many reasons. She could not ask it now, she would not if she could, and she did not care. She would not pay any of her precious little attention to it when there were other things to do. It had been an odd one, likely not from Tatooine, and she doubted she would see it again.

 


	2. II

 Shmi had been right to doubt that she would see the figure in white again. It was always watching someone, but it rarely kept company with the same person twice and it was a rare person to both see and notice the figure’s presence. Very, _very_ few people could see the curving of the ways where the figure watched them – that space between spaces where the watcher stepped into the scene – the hole in the weaving where the witness peered through and waited for direction.

 For a very long time, Shmi did not see the figure in white again. In all honesty, she forgot about the strange spirit, as she had work to do. The work of a slave and the work of caretaker to her son meant that Shmi had no time to consider the mysterious beings that she saw _regularly_ , much less a passing spirit she had ignored only once. Shmi was grounded in her reality.

 It had been a long time since Skywalkers walked the skies.

 If she had been able to watch him for every moment, every choice, every change in direction, perhaps she might have caught of glimpse of white shimmer around her son. But Shmi could not be there for every fork in her child’s path, as desperately as she tried to be hold him close and keep him safe, and the figure in white had little interest in the extremely frequent occasions where the Force’s child was yet again shielded and coddled by his mother’s viciously capable or gently guiding protection. Even when it did lean in, for some seconds, Shmi could not always be looking over her shoulder, especially not when Anakin was in front of her and in desperate need of guidance through their hard life.

 Perhaps Shmi could have seen the figure in white again over the years, however, and simply forgotten or dismissed it as some other being. It was not the sort of spirit to maintain the same shape, especially when it was watching a different person, and her son was the sort of person to attract a great many spirits. Anakin’s existence thrummed through the world and sometimes it seemed as though a whole monstrous horde of spirits and ghosts trailed around and after Shmi’s miracle child.

 Since the very day he was born, Anakin seemed to pique the curiosity of the otherworldly – of the other layers of worlds that seemed to rest so very thickly over Tatooine. Sometimes for the good of them, sometimes for the bad, and sometimes a mystery for the future to decide.

 The impish tricksters would trail after him like ducklings sometimes, giggling and clapping and rolling around at his mischief, an annoyingly encouraging entourage and the bane of a mother trying to teach her already rebellious child to learn masks. But at the same time, they were a boon, taking to Anakin’s interest and interaction in a way they had never to Shmi’s disinterest and occasional bribes. If they were feeling generous, they brought him trinkets, showed him hideaways and escape routes, called out warnings, and more. If they were feeling mischievous… well… there could be trouble.

 There was trouble, usually. Quite a lot of it. Acknowledging spirits always made things worse, in Shmi’s experience and opinion, but Anakin was of the opinion that acknowledging things was better. He was a proud boy, not one for letting things go, and some unacknowledged part of Shmi preened at having raised such extraordinary trouble, while the rest of her despaired at the work.

 Spirits made of sunbeams stalked Anakin when he toddled outside during the day and their moonbeams siblings meowed out to him at night. The lonely and towering wanderers that traveled the desert would come close for Anakin, looming over him with curiosity or giving Shmi shocks by peering through windows for a look before moving on. Shmi nearly felt her heart leap out of her chest when one of the canyon beasts first prowled out to sniff at and chase her son’s first attempts at racing pods, bristling large and dusty at the edges of town like they would waiting for any chance to eat him up with all their rows of terrible teeth.

 Thankfully, they rarely seemed to mean Anakin any true harm, which was good because simply ignoring them didn’t seem to work for him in the same way it did for Shmi. They grumbled off when he shooed them, usually, and sometimes spooked off at speed if Anakin was in a particularly bad or no-nonsence mood, and shouted or scowled or roared.

 As he grew, Anakin learned to pretend that he did not see the strange things that gathered and grew on Tatooine. While a young child seeing things could be attributed to a strong imagination, it did slaves no good to draw attention to themselves in such a way, and Anakin learned to keep silent around other people lest he attract the wrong sort of attention again. As he grew even more, Shmi would come to suspect that Anakin had learned to keep silent around her too, unwilling to worry her, seeing shades and nuances that were beyond her own senses.

 She would not press him on this. She had always known that Anakin was extraordinary beyond her, beyond them all, and perhaps she would be a little unwilling to know what other horrors and wonders were layered over the vast desert and beyond the stars.

 But Anakin would not stop acknowledging the spirits, in little ways that deemed him odd when he had eyes on him, and outright when they were alone. He meowed and howled and hissed back at them, brought them treats and showed them tricks, and learned whatever he could from them. Sometimes it was useful, sometimes not, sometimes it was true, sometimes it was outright false. Sometimes the talk and tales Anakin brought home made Shmi laugh and sometimes they made her fear.

 Before Anakin, Shmi had somewhat enjoyed the exotic spirits that visited from off-planet. They were strange beings, strange sights, and always unique and interesting. Once as a girl, Shmi had seen the most beautiful creature of scales and frills and colors and _gills_ , and wondered about the world made of water that the imperious and flowing thing had to have come from. She cherished that memory in particular among her precious things, and remembered many of the rare occasions she had spotted a peculiarly incredible alien drifting or stomping or limping through around the spaceports.

 After Anakin, Shmi had become more wary of them. She never knew what to make of them or what they might make of her boy who made the air thrum, and never knew what might happen. Once, one had lashed furiously out at Anakin and thankfully missed. Another time, an entire and extraordinarily rare procession of them had gathered around him like they were considering carrying him off. And one time more, an elderly creature with many arms and eyes had sat and whispered stories into her wide-eyed miracle child’s ears of other miraculous things that were out there.

 The worn creature had had terribly violet-blue eyes and a smile that was at once kind and as sharp as a sacrifice. It had looked to be made of bright blue light, flowing robes and all, transparent almost like a ghost, but more powerful and brilliant than any that Shmi had seen before or since.

 Anakin had never dreamed of Jedi before that.

 Ghosts were just the same as spirits, flocking to Anakin in a gruesome gallery of spectators, as though his hum in the air was a song calling out to all of them. Shmi had noticed that ghosts paid her more mind than most, but she had gotten good at ignoring them and being ignored. Anakin, on the other hand, they seemed to come almost alive for.

 Imprints on the desert brightened for him… or faded… depending on the sadness or terribleness of their stamp. Lost souls found themselves or their paths after Anakin spoke to them, as though his mere presence reminded them of where they ought to be or unstuck them from a trap. They warned him, they cursed him, they told him secrets good and bad, they begged him for promises, and always seemed so surprised when Shmi stepped in between them and her son and told them to take their unfinished petty business elsewhere.

 The worst thing, however, was when Anakin encountered lingering anger, a following of the furious and restless dead. When the enraged were brightened… well… before then, Shmi had never seen a ghost manage much beyond throwing a few things around. Spirits could often do more, if inclined, but ghosts didn’t often have the strength for their lashing out to do anything but pass through harmlessly. But this ghost had been more solid than the others, Anakin had been furious, and there had been a lot of blood spilled on the sand that day. Shmi had never seen a man drop dead in bloody pieces, killed by a vengeful ghost. The air had not so much thrummed as thundered that day.

 Shmi had shielded Anakin’s eyes and taken him home and held him tight, afraid nearly out of her mind that someone would connect Anakin’s brightness with the sudden, mysterious, horrifying incident. She had not known how to explain what had happened, so she had claimed not to have seen what happened exactly, but now she suspects Anakin found out on his own. He so often did as he got older and Shmi stopped being able to cover such bright, sharp, angry eyes.

 As Anakin grew older, as he moved away from Shmi’s protection and quiet safety, Shmi started to hear stories of strange, extraordinary things happening. Miracles of salvation for slaves and horrifying accidents against their slavers. Cruel men dropped dead out of nowhere and Shmi suspected, fretful, though she was glad as slavers started to avoid their little corner of a dull and dreary planet.

 A man came to buy Shmi away once with the plan to separate her and her son, but he was quickly driven off by cackling tricksters and moaning ghosts. Anyone who took an interest, rare as they were, suffered similar fates if not worse. The worst one off left bleeding, half-dead, near raving.

 After that, Shmi looked down at her proud, extraordinary miracle child and his almost entirely hidden smugness. She looked down into the hopeful, bright eyes of her miraculous, world-trembling son and thought of prowling spirits and bloody ghosts and blistering secrets hidden in the desert. For a very long moment, she considered being afraid of Anakin as well as afraid for him, because he was shining near as bright as both suns now and the unseen layers of the world flocked to him like he was their only source of water in a wide desert, and there was a trail of blood and ash clinging to them now.

 At the end of this moment, Shmi decided not to be afraid. Goodness and love shone through Anakin, making up most of his brightness, and it was a comfortable person indeed who could denounce all anger and violence as evil things. She had raised a boy who knew masks and did not care for them, who bowed only long enough for safety and advantage in a fight, and who dreamed with steadfast passion that someone would one day free all the slaves. She had raised a boy who laughed at tricksters and made acquaintances with loners, who welcomed wanderers and challenged beasts, and who guided the lost and roared for the voiceless.

 Anakin Skywalker lived more fiercely than any normal person – any _slave_ – ought to have been able to. And just because a miracle was intimidating did not mean it was a bad thing and Shmi rather thought that if anyone should be blessed with such extraordinary brightness, it should be someone unafraid to speak up for what they felt was right and good. Who would not wait, who would not watch, who would not be content to spend their life playing witness. And someone like that would need to be loved and guided and trusted, let to grow and be free and strong, not feared.

 The girl that Shmi had been could not bring herself to look at her child with the same concern and fear that her hallucinations had brought her from others. Even if concern and fear were really what a person what Anakin needed, she would not have been able to press such painful, heavy things onto her boy.

 Shmi missed the shimmering white lingering several steps behind her. She only had eyes for her son, her miracle, and was too caught up in her worries to pay attention to something she only would have ignored. She had work to do, much of it, and no precious attention to spare for any mysteries.


	3. III

 When Shmi saw the figure in white again, she was not expecting it at all, though perhaps she should have. Anakin had a terrible habit of dragging all sorts of beings home for shelter or help. He had learned to keep most of his spirit-related whims far from his mother and thus far out of the house, but sometimes a few adventures needed the touch of home and Shmi would catch a glimpse of the things Anakin got up to when not even she was watching.

 To anyone else, it would appear as though Anakin only brought home three people.

 The first was a tall and gangly alien with features belonging to a world entirely unlike Tatooine. It was a bumbling but apparently well-meaning creature, clearly the sort of being that needed the helpful whims of sorts like her son. She did not pay it much mind, save to watch it as she would any stranger in her home to make sure they did not break or steal anything.

 The second was a small girl with wary eyes and a permanently thoughtful look, apparently barely older than Anakin with her round face and lack of hips or fat. She held herself with the pride and posture of someone who had known a standard of life far above their own, and looked around their home with the surprise of someone who had never seen a standard such as that of slaves on cruel and vast Tatooine. It was the wariness and thoughtfulness of her eyes that made Shmi consider there could be something strong in the girl, because otherwise the child looked soft – skinned and hearted.

 The third visitor was the one that gave Shmi true pause, as it was a tall man with long hair and flowing robes. He had worn eyes that were at once kind and sharp, and his smile never once reached them. And most damning of all: the air hummed around him ever-so-slightly, at a noticeability that Shmi had never heard or seen from anyone before besides Anakin. It was quiet, controlled, but Shmi had had much practice at recognizing the buzz of beings that moved through multiple or different layers. This was a man, she thought, that could make the strange things of the world flee before him if he was of a mind and of the sight.

 The fourth visitor that none of the others seemed to be aware of was another tall figure, also swathed in flowing robes, but of shimmering silver and white instead of muted browns. They were largely translucent and made themselves as unobtrusive as possible, which alone would have marked them as a spirit if not for how their pale features couldn’t seem to agree on a particular shape to borrow. At best, Shmi might have been able to say that they were human and masculine and had long, dark hair, although their shifting expression always managed to be perfectly and unchangingly serene and politely interested in whatever was happening in the room it had just glided into.

 The oddest thing about it, however, was that it was gone by the time introductions were over and Shmi was hurrying to play host. It had simply vanished, even more suddenly than it had arrived, leaving no sign that anything had slipped through the door with their living, mortal visitors.

 Shmi didn’t think much of it, not at all. Not when the lonely wanderers still occasionally peered through windows and tricksters regularly danced on their roof, and a spirit or ghost had more than once tried or succeeded to follow him into the home. She had more important things to do than pay any of her precious attention to a harmless, flickering spirit, especially now that Anakin had succeeded in bringing a Jedi – a _living_ Jedi – home with him. An actual, _living_ Jedi of the Force.

 That was far more alarming and concerning than a passing figure in white and transparency.

 Later, when they had settled down for the night, when Shmi’s senses deemed their visitors safe enough to whisper around, she asked of Anakin the questions she had been collecting over the course of the night. What did he think he was doing? Trying to help. What would happen tomorrow with these people? He didn’t know yet, but he had some ideas. Would he be careful? Yes, Mum.

 It is only after the brief, whispered interrogation that Shmi thought to ask after the spirit Anakin had trekked into the house with the sand on his boots. Anakin looked up from the circuit he was fiddling with, frowning at her in such a way that Shmi almost wondered if even Anakin had not been able to see this one. It would be a first, since he seemed to see things far beyond even her senses. It had not seemed dangerous, but Shmi would be wary of anything that saw fit to sneak in with welcomed guests or that followed Anakin without even her miracle child knowing.

 “Dunno,” Anakin said finally, with the sort of shrug that made Shmi suspect he wasn’t telling her something again. “Was with Padmé when I met her, though, and ‘s’been in’n’out since then. Doesn’t seem bad, though, just nosy.”

 Shmi relaxed, because as he’d gotten older, Anakin had become a very good judge of these things. She still did not trust the being, but at least Anakin was aware of the being and was watching it too. Between the two of them, they could handle most things well and come out alright. She would save all her worrying for the Jedi, then, who seemed infinitely more dangerous to them than the figure in white could ever be.

 “I thought Padmé was a space angel when I saw her,” Anakin said, quietly even for their whispered tones. “Forgot for a moment that normal people could look’n’sound like her. Did’ya know she’s handmaiden to a queen? Doesn’t much act like a servant, though.”

  “…No,” Shmi agreed.

 “I think things are different, wherever she’s from,” Anakin said thoughtfully.

 “Yes, she seems like she comes from a very different world,” Shmi agreed again.

 While she personally couldn’t picture the world that the small girl was from, where wealth and freedom were the base standard of life, she knew that worlds like that existed out there. As well as worlds dissolved into fire and war. All those spirits and dead soldiers had to come from somewhere, after all. It was hard to imagine on the dry, dreary rock that was Tatooine, but she knew.

 Anakin was quiet for a long moment, before he asked, “Do you think things’ll be different here now that there’s a Jedi here?”

 “There might be some changes, before he leaves,” Shmi said, after a moment of thought, “but he seems like he’s just passing through… helping other people.” _More important people,_ she did not want to say, as she finished her work and moved over to where her son was sitting. “It might not be best to rest all your hopes on him, Anakin.”

 Anakin leaned into her arms as she opened them, and told her quietly, “I’m going to take the chance for change while it’s here, Mum. Just like all the stories. No help ever came to anyone who didn’t help others and themselves first.”

 Shmi hummed, uncertain how to voice a protest or even if she should. They didn’t have the sort of luck, the sort of life, where help could come from nowhere to lift them out of the sand and into the sky – which was why, she knew, Anakin had always preferred the stories of rebels and tricksters and tempters of fate. As dangerous as it was, her miracle child was right that this chance for change would not come around again or remain for long, it had been years since even that Jedi ghost once passed through. This was a chance for her Anakin, and she did not want her fear and technicalities to stop him from reaching out for something better.

 She pulled Anakin closer against her and kissed her miracle boy on the top of his sandy head. Shmi held him close and loved him dearly, knowing he could feel it, taking comfort in the steady warmth of love he returned to her with a pleased hum.

  _I have given you everything I can: the best life that I have been able,_ she thought. A small bitter feeling rose up, but she had already given consideration to such feelings and swallowed it. _But I cannot keep you safe forever and perhaps the best thing I can give you now is to give you up. You shine too brightly for this life, for this cruel planet, I can’t condemn you to it any longer than I have already._

 “That’s my boy,” Shmi said, proud.

 This time, Shmi did not miss the flutter of translucent white as the figure watched them from across the room. It had not been there a moment ago. Again, it wore the face and shape of a tall young man, with long, dark hair and robes that were perhaps more black than white, with a closer look. For all its eyes were a piercing yellow, it maintained the same serene, curious expression – without any sort of judgement or reproach, but also without any sort of happiness or approval.

 The watching spirit met Shmi’s stare. It showed no signs of being frightened, no surprise at being seen, no shame at having been caught trespassing in their home. It simply met her suspicious gaze and held it, for a long moment, before it gave a polite smile that seemed more like a forced grimace.

 And then the figure in shimmering darkness and white vanished, looking up as though someone had soundlessly called it away and slipping through the wall to follow the beckoning. Again, it had for no longer than several seconds and left no trace of it having been there at all.

 For the first time, Shmi wondered what it was and why it had been here. Anakin had taught her to pay more attention to spirits, as he refused not to pay attention to them and thus brought theirs on him. She would have liked to ignored it, to dismiss it as something harmless, but… it had come in with the Jedi and she did not like or trust him, as much as she resigned herself to his presence and the potential he held for Anakin. He and the spirit had the same smile, one that did not reach their all too sharp and watching eyes.


	4. IV

 The figure in white appeared several more times over the course of their guests’ time on Tatooine, slipping in and out of the corner of Shmi’s eye. Her precious attention was too caught up in watching over her son and the Jedi’s plans, aiding them in her subtle ways, she did not have much if any attention to spare for some strange spirit watching over them at rare, random moments. What little attention and thought she did manage to give, did not allow her to decipher what exactly made the spirit appear and disappear as it did. It seemed to come and go as it pleased, though it never appeared pleased – nor displeased, for that matter – to come or go, or about anything it saw.

 Shmi did not give the spirit much attention or thought, though, truth be told. She had work to do, far too much of it, to pay attention to one odd spirit among the many that seemed to be gathering around them.

 It was work to nurture the Jedi’s interest in Anakin, as subtly as she could manage under his watchful eyes and polite smile. It was work to nurture Watto’s greed and excitement over an entrapping bet, as quietly as she could sneak under his indignation at being baited. It was work to nurture Anakin’s courage and confidence, as loudly as she could hide from all the watchful eyes. It was work to bribe tricksters, to befuddle competitors, to pull as many strings and spirits as she could below the notice of those above, in the hopes of giving Anakin a true bid for freedom and a better life.  

 She could not pay attention to one odd spirit when there were so many that were demanding pieces of her precious attention. A crowd of the otherworldly beings seemed to be gathering around them, forming a curious and monstrous gallery around Anakin. Shmi ran interference as best and subtly she could between ghosts and spirits and her son, just in case, though they thankfully did not seem inclined to get between Anakin and the tall, watchful Jedi Master.

 Besides, Shmi was more inclined to give thought and attention to the Jedi who had introduced himself as Qui-Gon Jinn. She had never met a Jedi before and only seen the Jedi ghost Anakin had met in passing, though for Anakin she acted as though this was no unsettling thing, she could not help but be a little curious, a little fearful, and a little bitter on the inside towards the man.

 The thing about him that she was most caught on, however, was that he did not seem to be able to see the spirits and ghosts that whispered and murmured and hissed and howled around them. Shmi had become excellent at ignoring beings that others could not see, but surely no one could be as impervious to them as was this Jedi Master. If Qui-Gon Jinn had not turned his head for a single howl, had he not moved for a single ghost or spirit, then Shmi might have suspected that he was simply extremely adept at hiding his sight. But no, more than once she saw him glance at a particularly gruesome shade, or look towards a particularly beastly snarl, and then search apparently unseeingly, unfocused, for a moment before dismissing the snippet of a spirit he’d seen or heard.

 But perhaps that was simply Shmi’s bitterness and jealousy towards the man. It would be ridiculous to presume that she could see things that a Jedi could not, and far more likely that the man was just adept at pretending he could not see them and was simply caught off guard by the strange sights that gathered on Tatooine. She would even assume that all the ghosts and spirits were her own hallucinations if not for how Anakin saw and interacted with them, and how they acted towards her miracle child.

 Against all odds, it seemed, Shmi hard work finally, finally, _finally_ paid off. Anakin won the race and the Jedi Master’s full attention, which in turn won him his freedom and a place with the Jedi. Shmi almost cried, amidst all the whoops and roars of the spirits, she was so surprised and overjoyed that this was actually happening for her wonderful, brilliant boy.

 It was when the Jedi came to ask Shmi to take Anakin that Shmi’s precious attention finally fell once again on the figure in white. It followed the Jedi Master not even a foot behind him, following his long strides with its own and with ease. They made a striking pair together, both tall with long hair and long robes, though the spirit was at once colored in darker clothes and hair and shimmering white, while the Jedi was in dull browns. The mysterious figure’s features were no longer undecided, but rather solidly human and male, wearing a proud-featured face that Shmi did not know.

 The figure stood by her and Qui-Gon Jinn as though it were a part of their conversation, in which the Jedi Master asked Shmi if he could take her son from her. It simply stood and stared, watched and waited, as Shmi muddled through her internal sadness and jealousy, beat back all her inner turmoil for one of the last times, and agreed that Anakin should have the chance to become a Jedi.

 When the Jedi left the room to tell Anakin the good news, Shmi turned to the spirit before it had the chance to disappear, because it was either that or break into a million pieces and she would not have the time to sweep herself off the floor before Anakin came running in.

 “Excuse me,” Shmi said.

 The figure in darkened white, which had been watching the tall Jedi leave the room, turned to look down at her. It was unnerving, a little, looking up into its almost certainly borrowed face. Such a polished and handsome young man, but with such piercing yellow eyes and a cracked quality to his skin, as though he too was in the process of breaking into a million pieces. It could not have been a mimicry of Anakin or the Jedi, thankfully, as the features were too different, but Shmi found no comfort in such a complete mystery wearing Jedi-like robes and a distantly polite smile.

 “What business do you have here?” Shmi said finally, after deciding that ‘who are you’ might not be helpful, ‘what are you’ might be rude, and ‘what do you want’ might be rude and unhelpful.

 The figure thankfully did not seem angry, but rather thoughtful. When it opened its mouth to speak, it spoke in a voice made of several voices, multi-toned and echoing, as though still settling on the sound it was borrowing. The most prominent of these voices was that of a young man’s, deep and rich, with the accent of a faraway and well-spoken offworlder.

  _“I am here to witness the way you will change the way of the galaxy, Shmi Skywalker.”_

 Shmi did not know how to answer that, because that was such a grand statement and it had been said so very casually, in such a way as someone might say they going to run an everyday errand. And the idea that she, of all people, could change the way of the galaxy was absurd.

 “Mum! Qui-Gon said that I’m free, is it true? I’m free?! Mum!”

 Shmi turned away from the spirit to open her arms for her son, who rushed into them making the air thrum with his brightness and joy. She hummed back all her happiness for him, swallowing any sort of bitterness or envy or jealousy as the Jedi reappeared in the doorway.

 “Yes, you’re free, Anakin,” she confirmed, kissing him on the top of his head. “You’re free!”

 It was with a heavy heart that Anakin’s joy was cut short by the Jedi’s announcement that Shmi had not been freed as well. Anakin’s happiness turned to horror, as he turned on his mother and the Jedi Master, and they both confirmed that Anakin would be leaving and Shmi would stay. It nearly broke Shmi’s heart to see his fear. She did not want to let him go into the wide and terrifying galaxy, nor did she want to be left behind and alone on this cruel and dreary desert planet for the rest of her days.

 But she swallowed her bitterness, because she could not condemn his brightness to Tatooine for the rest of his days. Anakin was already far too big for the role this planet had offered him, any longer and Shmi was sure her furious boy’s determination to help and see justice done would cease being content with secrets and shadows and masks and caution. The Jedi could offer him so much more than she could – his brightness would outstrip the stars with the life they could offer her miracle child.

 Long before Shmi would have the opportunity to ask more questions of them, in the midst of reassuring Anakin that this was a wonderful thing, the figure in white had slipped away again. Shmi did not see it go, it left so suddenly and her precious attention was all on her precious boy. It was only after Anakin had left the room to pack that Shmi realized the shimmering of its robes and the weight of its eyes had vanished once again. She was given no time to search for it either, as her attention was soon focused on asking and answering some last few questions with the Jedi Master.

 Shmi hesitated on what she should reveal to the man. It was already clear that her Anakin was gifted – special, different, powerful – even in the eyes of a weathered and worn Jedi. Should she speak to him of the layers of the world she and Anakin walked through? Should she tell him of the spirits that flocked to her brilliant child? Should she tell him of vengeful ghosts given their chances?

 Shmi hesitated on what she should ask of the man as well. What would become of Anakin among the Jedi? What powers and abilities would they give her already talented son? What lessons would they teach him about peace and justice and righteousness? Would they soothe his fears and guide his rage? Would they hold him close? Keep him safe? Love him dearly? As much as they could?

  _Am I doing the right thing?_ Shmi asked herself, as Anakin stepped out of his room with a bag over his shoulder and an expression as though he too was trying not to break into a million pieces. She and Anakin had never gone more than a day or so apart, ever since he was born. They were hardly halves of a whole, but to be apart seemed as painful and world-wrenching as trying to tear apart the suns.

  _I must be doing the right thing,_ she thought to herself, trying not to cry, as she opened her arms for her beloved boy and hugged him tight for what might be the last time. _It has to be the right thing. It hurts too much not to be._

 “Be brave, Anakin,” Shmi whispered, pressing her forehead against his. “You are so bright. Always remember that I am so proud of you.”

 “I’ll come back and free you too,” Anakin whispered back. “I promise.”

 Shmi laughed, quiet and wet, and kissed him on the head one more time, while she could. She breathed in deeply and focused on the thrum of their love in the air, the whisper of his breath and beat of his heart against her skin, all contained in the swell of his small chest. She stared at her son, her heart welling for a moment with great hope and terrible fear, and prayed as it felt she had never prayed before that such a thing could be so. One day it might be.

 She hugged Anakin again, memorizing his warmth and brightness, and this time did not miss the figure in white she saw over Anakin’s shoulder, back again and watching with its distant smile and borrowed face. It was definitely an odd one, definitely not from Tatooine, and she knew that she would definitely not be seeing it again. Maybe now, in this one moment, it had eyes for her, but it had eyes for Anakin too and she knew which one of them it and its watchful eyes would follow.

 Then Shmi swallowed her heart and let Anakin go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) If I do write more for this, I think I'm going to skip right over to the original trilogy. I don't really want to go into the prequels in this universe, especially not having seen The Clone Wars TV show. I have a lot of ideas for the original trilogy (Luke and Leia!), most of which I think work best if the events of the prequels are left a mystery. 
> 
> 2) At the same time, I'm kind of undecided where to go with this. On one hand, I kind of want to do that whole overarching one-shot thing that is tragically canon-compliant in an AU style. One the other hand, I kind of want to go wildly canon divergent and do the whole 'Luke manages to reach Vader, what the hell happens now?' thing. This is a problem, especially because I sort of want to do both and I am not well-versed in Star Wars. 
> 
> 3) Props to anyone who can guess who the figure in white was using for a face the second time. The first appearance is just sort of meant to represent Tatooine as a whole, I guess, and to highlight just how strange spirits can appear, but the second was meant to be a cameo of sorts. I mean, I've never read any of the books that have him or anything, but I tried and that's what's important.


End file.
